


Counterpoint

by CelticKnot



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types
Genre: Other, Songs, standalone one-shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 16:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13528140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticKnot/pseuds/CelticKnot
Summary: A collection of vignettes about each of the Normandy crew throughout the trilogy, each based on a song.





	1. Playlist

**Author's Note:**

> "Counterpoint" is a collection of standalone vignettes, each inspired by the song from which it takes its title. There will eventually be one for each squadmate, plus some other major crew members. Timeframe varies from backstory to any of the three games, in no particular chronological order. All the songs can be found on YouTube—I recommend listening while you read.
> 
> Here are the songs I plan to use for each character so far.

Commander Shepard: "Wrong Side of Heaven" – Five Finger Death Punch

Zaeed Massani: "Heroes" – Shinedown

Legion: "My Last Breath" – Evanescence

Samara: "Angels Fall" – Breaking Benjamin

Tali'Zorah vas Normandy: "All I Ever Wanted" – Shinedown

Mordin Solus: "This is War" – Thirty Seconds to Mars

Garrus Vakarian: "I Stand Alone" – Godsmack

Miranda Lawson: "For My Sake" – Shinedown

Urdnot Grunt: "Riot" – Three Days Grace

Jacob Taylor: "Awake and Alive" – Skillet

Thane Krios: "Forever My Infinity" – Sully Erna

Jack: "Sweet Sacrifice" – Evanescence

Kasumi Goto: "Misfits" – Shinedown

Urdnot Wrex: "Rise" – Skillet

Liara T'Soni: "Broken Pieces" – Apocalyptica

Ashley Williams: "When Angels Fly Away" – Cold

Kaiden Alenko: "Call Me" – Shinedown

EDI: "Bring Me to Life" – Evanescence

Javik: "Indestructible" – Disturbed

James Vega: "Feel Invincible" – Skillet

Steven Cortez: "Ashes of Eden" – Breaking Benjamin

Dr. Karin Chakwas: "Lean On Me" – Bill Withers

Jeff "Joker" Moreau: "Magic Carpet Ride" – Steppenwolf


	2. Shepard: Wrong Side of Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I spoke to God today / And She said that She’s ashamed / What have I become? / What have I done?” —Five Finger Death Punch

_“I’m no hero, and I’m not made of stone._  
_Right or wrong, I can hardly tell–_  
_I’m on the wrong side of heaven  
_ _And the righteous side of hell.”_

_—Five Finger Death Punch_

Three.

Hundred.

_Thousand._

All dead, because of her. And she’d do it again, without hesitation. Because what were three hundred thousand lives compared to all the civilizations of the galaxy? _Trillions_ more had been saved. This was war. Casualties happened. Collateral damage. And sometimes, sacrifices had to be made for the greater good.

Shepard whispered this over and over to herself like a mantra, clinging to what felt like the last shreds of sanity. _The greater good._ What a stupid cliché. Used by war criminals the galaxy over and throughout history to justify their atrocities. Good for whom? Not for the innocent citizens of Aratoht. Not for the three hundred thousand batarians—civilians, families, _children_ —she’d killed when she’d destroyed their entire star system.

She remembered vividly the incident on Feros, where one colonist had died when a stray bullet missed a Thorian creeper and hit Macha Doyle right between the eyes. Her face had haunted Shepard’s nightmares for weeks afterward, angry and accusing. One. She’d killed one, and still thought of it only with pangs of nausea. Never had she imagined she might consider that a good day.

_Acceptable losses,_ Garrus had said.

_One is too many,_ Shepard had countered.

Now she huddled on the floor at the foot of her bed, hugging her knees as if she could physically hold herself together. There was too much to do for her to have time to wallow in self-pity, but she couldn’t fall apart in front of the crew. No one could see her like this. It would undermine their confidence in her command. No, she had to get up, _get up now,_ drag her sorry ass back to the CIC and pretend to be whole so they could go stop the Collectors and make all of this mean something.

As if on cue, EDI’s voice piped up from the console by the door. “Commander Shepard, Sere Krios requests entrance.”

Shepard clenched her teeth. “Tell him to—” she began, then stopped before she could say _go away._ She sighed shakily. “Fuck it. Let him in.”

The door whispered open to admit the one person for whom, as she was beginning to learn, she didn’t need to wear her mask. _“Siha,_ are you…” Thane trailed off as his eyes fell on her trembling form. In three quick strides, he was across the room and kneeling beside her, brow furrowed with worry.

Shepard took a deep, steadying breath as she met his gaze. “I’m fine,” she lied.

But those huge dark eyes saw right through her. He reached out a hesitant hand, then, gently and so very, very tenderly, Thane brushed tears from her cheeks that she hadn’t even realized she’d shed. And it was that simple, small act of comfort that finally shattered her.

She could take Hackett’s halfhearted, party-line recriminations; hell, she’d expected far worse. The fearful silence of the crew similarly came as no surprise. Even Joker’s stunned, solemn speechlessness fell upon her with an appropriately chastising weight.

But the admiral’s conspiratorial praise had been a little harder to swallow. Doctor Chakwas’s kind, sympathetic gaze, even more so. And Shepard had flat-out ignored Kelly’s offer of counsel, lest she break down right there in the CIC—or laugh in the poor girl’s face.

And now _this._

Shepard had never even tried to deny that she was attracted to Thane, and he’d made it quite clear he felt the same. But their relationship had been blossoming slowly, and they both had been content to let it. Until now, the only real physical contact they’d ever had—outside of the occasional battlefield first aid—had been simply holding each other’s hands while they chatted in the life support bay. Neither of them had yet said the word “love.”

But that’s what she saw in his eyes now, what she felt in the touch of his fingers on her face. Love, deep and fierce and above all, _unconditional._

Truth be told, it frightened her. Hate, she could handle. Hate, she could understand, could even go along with. God knew she’d hate herself until her dying day for what she’d done at Aratoht. But love? She didn’t know what to do with love. Who could possibly love the monster who’d murdered an entire star system and three hundred thousand people?

She didn’t deserve _love_.

Yet she was drowning in it anyway, dissolving in it like a sand castle in the pounding surf. Her face crumpled, and she suddenly flung her arms around him, burying her face in the soft leather of his jacket and sobbing like a child. He stiffened briefly in surprise. Then she felt his cool hands slide slowly across her back, and melted into his embrace.

Shepard clung to him as she screamed and cried. His strong, solid presence was the eye of her storm, her one lifeline amidst the guilt and horror and grief and rage and pain that thundered and shrieked within her. And Thane held her—gently, patiently—silently stroking her hair until the storm finally blew itself out.

As her sobs quieted to miserable hiccups, self-consciousness began to set in. A faint tingling in her palm made her realize it had found the open front of Thane’s vest, and now rested intimately on bare scales. But before she could withdraw it, she felt his fingers wrap around hers, pinning her hand in place. The slow, steady beat of his heart was somehow soothing.

_“Siha.”_ Pressed up against his chest as she was, his crushed-velvet voice vibrated through her in a rumble that would have been comforting, but for one detail.

“Please,” she whispered brokenly, “Don’t call me that. Not anymore.”

His heartbeat under her hand stuttered once—the only indication that her words had affected him at all. “Why not?” he asked, his voice soft and very controlled. Shepard couldn’t bring herself to look at his face.

“Because I don’t… I’m not…” She swallowed hard as even more tears threatened. “I’m no angel, Thane. I’m not this heroic figure everyone makes me out to be. Innocent people are dead because of me.”

“And many, many more are alive because of you.”

Shepard choked back another sob. “I’d do it again, too. That’s the worst part. Given the chance—I’d do it again.”

“Shepard. Look at me.” Thane’s fingers found her chin and gently but firmly tilted her face toward his. She closed her eyes. _“Look at me,”_ he insisted, worry coloring his tone with a harshness that surprised her, and she obeyed.

His eyes were wide and dark and serious, his stare intense and magnetic. She couldn’t look away if she wanted to.

“That’s precisely what a _siha_ is,” he said. “She does what she must, to protect those she can. And may the Gods help those who stand in her way.”

Shepard straightened, pulling away just enough to face him fully. “But—”

“But she is not the Goddess Herself,” Thane continued before she could voice her objection. “She is not all-powerful. She is, as your people would say, _only human.”_ He stood, leaving her staring up at him, mouth agape. “Think on that, Shepard.”

She could only watch as he made his way to the door. But before it could close behind him, he paused and turned back toward her. “You understand, don’t you, that they would have died anyway?”

Still huddled on the floor, Shepard drew her knees in even tighter. “I know. But then their blood wouldn’t be on my hands.”

Thane tucked his hands behind his back and fixed her with a look she couldn’t quite name. “On the contrary,” he said, somewhat reprovingly, “you did what was within your power. Had you done nothing, you would have had the blood not only of Aratoht, but of the entire galaxy on your hands.”

Shepard shot to her feet, searching for a retort but finding herself speechless.

Thane gave a small bow. “Good night… _siha.”_ And he was gone.


	3. Zaeed: Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zaeed’s POV on the end of his loyalty mission. I usually play ME2 by gathering all my crewmates first, then doing everyone’s loyalty missions. I often end up doing Zaeed’s close to last, and I imagine that would annoy him to no end. So I’m kind of poking fun at my own playing style here. All dialogue comes from the game.

_“All my heroes have now become ghosts_  
_Sold their sorrows to the ones who paid the most  
_ _All my heroes are dead and gone…”_

—Shinedown

 

_That goddamn bitch!_

Zaeed roared incoherently as he emptied his Vindicator’s magazine at Vido’s rapidly retreating gunship. So blinding was his rage that it was several seconds before he realized that the thermal clip had overheated and the rifle was firing nothing but sharp clicks. He’d had Vido in his sights, could taste the sweet revenge that had been two decades coming—and he had gotten away! All thanks to Shepard and her bloody hero complex.

He grimaced as he smacked the clip out of his malfunctioning rifle, leaving it hissing angrily on the ground. Damn her and her noble, idealistic do-gooding. Charging off on her high horse to rescue a handful of nobody miners! She’d given that scumbag time to escape!

Shepard’s footsteps sounded behind him, and he whirled on her, scowling at her down the Vindicator’s sights. Her Carnifex was pointed almost casually at his gut, but he didn’t particularly care. She was too _virtuous_ to shoot him. “You just cost me twenty years of my life!” he snarled.

But before Shepard could respond, an explosion rattled the platform on which they stood. A large chunk of debris sailed over Shepard’s head and knocked Zaeed flat on his back, pinning his leg at a painful angle that made him wonder if it was broken. He cursed loudly. Wouldn’t that just be the perfect end to this little disaster? To have to be carried back to the _Normandy_ by this _girl—_ or her pet drell—would only add insult to injury.

She glared down at him. “You started this fire, Zaeed,” she snapped, eyes blazing like the inferno raging in the building behind her. “It makes sense that you’ll burn in it.”

Zaeed almost laughed. So her virtue had its limits, after all. “Yeah? Screw you,” he spat.

It figured, of course. She’d promised to help him take down Vido when she’d recruited him on Omega—and then had spent weeks flitting around the galaxy amassing the most ridiculous collection of misfits ever to call itself a crew. And each one’s loyalty came with a price, a condition, a favor… and they all came before his. For fuck’s sake, all that goddamned drell had needed to do was give her those big puppy-dog eyes and it had been _next stop, Citadel_ to keep his grown-ass kid from making his own bad decisions. But this little side trip had evidently been low on her priority list, and now she was going to abandon it—and Zaeed—altogether.

But she wouldn’t really leave him here to die… would she? No, Shepard could talk tough and fight tougher, but she was too honest and _honorable_ to just walk away now. He called her bluff. “Now come on, get me out of this shithole.”

Shepard crouched in front of him, her back straight and prideful, absolutely radiating righteousness. God, she was insufferable. “I’m not sure I need a man like you on my ship,” she said archly.

What did she want him to do, beg? He shifted position, trying to get an angle on the beam that held him down so he could lift it himself, but the movement sent pain shooting up his trapped leg. “If you didn’t need me, Cerberus wouldn’t have paid my fee,” he ground out. A handsome fee it had been, too—and also one he had no intention of returning should Shepard decide differently.

She certainly seemed unmoved.

“I’ll do what I was paid to do. Nothing more, nothing less,” he continued grudgingly. He gritted his teeth as another spasm tore through his leg. “Now stop screwing around! Let’s go!”

Shepard’s cold green eyes flicked briefly to the beam, then back to his face, and he realized suddenly that she was fully aware of how much pain he was in. The bitch was _holding him hostage_ to it, using his injury as leverage to get him to see things her way.

He could respect that, actually.

It was unexpectedly ruthless, coming from a paragon of virtue such as herself. Clearly, there was more to Rhiannon Shepard than met the eye. He suddenly saw the kind of person who might want an assassin like Krios watching her six, who could force a krogan like Grunt to submit, who would befriend a trigger-happy vigilante like Vakarian, but still command the loyalty of the honorable Justicar and the naïve young quarian.

She stood and backed up a few steps. “You put your own goals ahead of the mission. That’s not the way this works.”

“I’ve survived this long watching my own back.” He looked down at the deck. “No time to worry about anyone else.”

When he raised his eyes again, it was to stare down the barrel of Shepard’s Carnifex, inches from his face.

“You’re part of a team now, Zaeed,” she said sternly. “There’s no way we can do this unless we’re all working together.”

It was a challenge. One twitch of her finger, and that hand cannon would blow his head off. There was no way she’d actually do it, of course, but the gesture was symbolic. She was giving him a choice: he could stay with her crew on her terms, or he could try his luck here on Zorya. He would leave here fully committed to her cause, or not at all.

But there was really no choice. If he stayed, wounded, alone, and surrounded by hostile Suns, he was as good as dead. He bowed his head, acknowledging defeat. “You… you have a point.” He sighed in relief as Shepard finally heaved the beam off his leg and flung it heavily aside. “I’m not done with Vido, but I can put that behind me long enough to get your mission done.” Climbing gingerly to his feet, he carefully tested his wounded leg. It hurt like a sonofabitch to put weight on it, but it wasn’t broken. He could limp back to the LZ under his own power. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

He studied Shepard in silence as he followed her back to the shuttle. A pretty thing even in armor, the woman was certainly more formidable than she appeared. She was young, but not untested: that small frame housed a spine of steel. Yes, he could follow her into battle. He would complete her mission. Looking at it now with a clear head, Zaeed knew that the Collector threat was far more worthy of his efforts than that rat bastard Vido. And Shepard might just be the leader who could pull off a long shot like this.

But when it was over, there would be no goddamn power in the galaxy that could keep him from his revenge.


	4. Legion: My Last Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An expedient field repair.

_“Closing your eyes to disappear_  
_You pray your dreams will leave you here_  
_But still you wake and know the truth—  
_ _No one’s there.”_

—Evanescence

 

This environment was inhospitable to organic life.

The geth within the damaged mobile platform examined the wreckage of the vessel designated _SSV Normandy SR-1_ , and determined that the ship had crashed between one and two galactic standard months ago. The vagaries of Alchera’s weather patterns made a more specific calculation impossible. Nevertheless, the probability that the Shepard-Commander had lived this long here was approximately 0.02%, assuming she had survived the impact.

It was possible, also, that she had survived and subsequently been rescued—but without evidence, consensus could not be reached on the probability of that outcome. There had been no definitive indication in any communications or extranet sites that the Shepard-Commander still lived. Given the evident superiority of her code, however, some programs persisted in considering the possibility. The geth continued to investigate the crash site in search of additional data.

Large sections of the _Normandy’s_ hull were scattered across a wide area, suggesting that it had broken up long before impact. The weapons scarring indicated a firefight with a far superior force, and gave off an unusual signature. The geth searched their database, but were unable to find a match. _No data available._ They saved the scans for later analysis.

They continued their explorations. The heavily armored M-35 Mako ground vehicle was largely intact, but without power, and a scan of a nearby escape pod yielded the same results. There was nowhere in the vicinity that could provide adequate shelter. If the Shepard-Commander was still here, she was certainly dead.

This conclusion introduced contradictions in some subroutines that momentarily impaired motor function, causing the platform’s shoulders and ocular lens to droop. These errors were soon rectified, and processing speed and motor functions stabilized, though at 4.83% slower than normal.

There, on the ground—the site had been disturbed. Any footprints had long been erased by the blowing and drifting snow, but it was evident that some of the wreckage had been moved. Searched. The geth followed the disturbance from piece to piece, seeking anything that might provide a clue to the Shepard-Commander’s fate.

Error messages began to flare up across multiple systems. The platform was not operating at peak efficiency. It had sustained heavy damage to its right side and arm in its investigation of the Eden Prime colony, and the cold and snow were beginning to severely affect its mobility. However, its omni-tool could not manufacture parts large enough to effect repairs. It would be necessary to conclude this mission quickly, or the platform would be at risk for permanent deactivation.

Before complete failure was imminent, though, the trail of disturbed debris led the geth to a small scattering of fragments, not of the ship, but of an individual’s hardsuit. Traces of organic material adhered to the inside, charred as though the wearer had slowly burnt within. This information, combined with data acquired from the wreckage of the _Normandy,_ seemed to indicate that the vessel had been attacked and destroyed by an opponent with far superior weaponry, and this individual had been ejected into space and burnt up during atmospheric reentry.

It occurred to the geth that the being might have preferred to die in the blast.

Enough genetic material remained on the armor plates for definitive analysis, and a scan confirmed that it belonged to the Shepard-Commander. She was indeed dead. This information caused many of the geth’s programs to malfunction, and the mobile platform was momentarily still.

But its hardware was still deteriorating. There was still time for the geth to return to their own ship, and they had accomplished their objective. Yet still they stood, staring blankly at the pieces of armor half-buried in the snow. Then, without knowing why, they picked up some of the less damaged plates and welded them to the platform, patching the worst of the damage.

The integration was… not seamless. Attempting to move the arm caused more error messages to flash across the platform’s neural network, overloading a few of the pathways and causing the ocular plates to twitch. Most of the errors could be overridden; some could not. However, the geth determined the limb had been restored to approximately 93.76% functionality, and deemed the field repair adequate.

They turned back toward their ship, ready to leave this planet, then stopped once more.

The Shepard-Commander had died somewhere above the surface of Alchera, either in orbit or falling through the atmosphere. While the heat generated during reentry would have been enormous, her hardsuit’s seals should have prevented her body from disintegrating. It should have struck the ground largely intact inside the armor. So where was it?

This region of Alchera had no native fauna. The most logical conclusion, therefore, was that whoever had been searching the site before the geth’s arrival had taken the body. But to what purpose? Most organic species had rituals governing the disposition of the bodies of the deceased, but none of the communications the geth had intercepted indicated that the Shepard-Commander’s remains had been retrieved for that purpose. In fact, this seemed to be a source of emotional distress for many humans.

The geth, as well, were still experiencing unexplained malfunctions in many of their cognitive processes. The Shepard-Commander had been their best hope for finding a way to fight the domination of the Old Machines and the influence of the heretics. Finding her had been this unit’s sole mission, the reason 1,183 programs had been loaded into a single platform and sent out to scour the galaxy alone. Her death was… problematic.

But even if her software was lost, perhaps some answers could be found in what remained of her hardware. After all, why else would it have been taken? Consensus was quickly reached—the geth would track those who had retrieved the Shepard-Commander’s body and determine their purpose. Perhaps they sought the same thing and could be allies. If not…

The geth checked their sniper rifle. Loaded and functioning optimally.

They would find her.


End file.
